


Layers

by artoni



Series: Stratum [2]
Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Frotting, M/M, Oral, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artoni/pseuds/artoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One thing leads to another. Takes place immediately post 'Alternative Apology'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Layers

They stare at each other for a few (awkward? calculating, more like) moments before Drift sits back, leaning on his hands as he retracts his panel with more _challenge_ than shyness. The look in his eyes is still there, the spirit that Cyclonus now finds a bit entrancing. Enough for him to keep his smirk, just the trace of it as he kneels down, propping himself up with one hand while the other reaches for Drift's hard spike.

There's already a trace of transfluid leaking from the top, and while Cyclonus is a bit out of practice...he lowers his helm with only a moment's hesitation, flicking out his glossa to just brush the head. Drift hisses softly in pleasure, fingers curling against the ground as his hips twitch up, eagerness betraying him. Cyclonus only chuckles, moving the hand on the ground to Drift's hip, holding him in place as he squeezes the spike, just a bit, while giving it an only slightly longer lick.

He's definitely out of practice, but...apparently he still remembers enough. Not like he's really planning on staying down here for long, but it's not like he'll tell Drift that. He takes his time, red optics never leaving Drift's face as he tends the spike, slowly familiarizing himself with the contours and ridges.

Even in his time, there were many Cybertronians who found the act submissive. A way of lowering oneself to the other. Quite frankly, Cyclonus _doesn't_ \- or at least, sees it as having the potential for more. Because as much as he _had_ been trying to insult Drift by suggesting he suck his spike, as much it had clearly _been_ an act of humility...

What he's doing, right now, _isn't_. Drift's refusal to order him to hurry up or actually _suck_ (which would be difficult, at best, for Cyclonus) or do more than twitch his hips, obeying the hand restraining him, makes it clear that he sees it, too. Cyclonus has the power here, and he's _flaunting_ it. Which normally he wouldn't do, wouldn't _care_ to do, but apparently Drift has a hell of a submissive side for all the front he puts on, and _why the hell not_. He's clearly enjoying it, and that overload was _damn_ good.

Apology or not, the least Cyclonus can do is try and return the favor. Especially if _he_ gets something out of it as well.

Because as much as he's been focusing on Drift, squeezing the spike and pumping it in companion to his lapping glossa...his own spike is repressurizing, too. He'd challenge anyone _not_ to be even the slightest bit aroused with Drift gasping and groaning under him, trying to suppress most of his pleasure, but even _that_ is telling. Even that says more than _being_ loud could, and Cyclonus fully intends on breaking that control and stripping Drift back to the wanton mech he had just minutes ago. 

But it's awful hard to do so when his 'weaponry' is somewhat...occupied, at the moment.

He stops pumping the spike, pressing the flat of his glossa against it to make up for the lack of motion there. The distraction works well enough, because Drift barely twitches (well, more than he already is) when Cyclonus presses a bent knuckle against the opening of his valve, slowly pressing it inside- hell, the valve's systems may not have been the one he attended, but with Cyclonus now unbending that finger he can tell it's only going to take so much preparation. Either Drift is fine with this or doesn't care, because he's making no moves to stop Cyclonus - only clenches around the finger as the mech moves it in and out, in and out, careful of the claw. 

When he presses another one in he lets out shuddering groan, raising his helm to see what Cyclonus is actually _doing_ \- and Cyclonus hasn't looked away. He just smirks again as he runs his upper lip over the head of the spike, optics alight in that same challenge, and just as Drift opens his mouth to maybe say something Cyclonus is curling those fingers, dragging the pads against the walls, and Drift cries out.

"Problem?" Cyclonus drawls, repeating the motion. Drift bites his lip to muffle himself, then shakes his head vehemently. To which Cyclonus actually _stops_ , starting to pull away, as though taking it as a signal to stop. "Well..."

Drift cries out even _louder_ as his fingers pull out, swearing- "Cyclonus, _damn it_!"

"What?"

Okay, maybe he's being a slagger, but it's _funny_. Not that he's betraying how hilarious it is seeing Drift's expression, only blinking once with the straightest of faces as the warrior sputters, trying to get his head back together, and finally:

"That's- _not helping_...!"

"Thought you wanted me to stop." Nonchalant. Unperturbed.

" _No_!"

"No?"

That's _anger_ there in Drift's face, and arguably a sign for Cyclonus to stop, but there's a reason to all of this. Before Drift can do more than curl his mouth in a snarl, Cyclonus is leaning forwards, their faces suddenly inches apart as he shows it;

"So tell me what you want."

It's a gamble; he's not _sure_ that this is the kind of thing Drift's in to, but if Drift's the kind to accept - to _be turned on by_ \- being spoken to like he's a professional pleasurebot, then maybe, _just_ maybe, he'll take this too. Cyclonus isn't bad at reading people - far from it, he's more observant than most give him credit for, and he's fine for the most part to go without that credit - but Drift has caught his interest, and he doesn't think he's guessed wrong here.

Apparently, that's right, because the rage flashes once - and then is replaced by shock. Understanding. Perhaps not an overt acceptance, but there's that same flash in Drift's optics, the same when Cyclonus had started talking about how many spikes he sucked, that suggests yes, he's found another part of that.

"Tell me what you want," he says again, moving closer. Enough so that Drift's spike rubs against his own, which may not be nearly as hard or heated, but- it's clear enough that he's ready to go another round. "I may not be able to suck you off, but you were enjoying yourself enough, weren't you?"

"I..."

Cyclonus jerks his hips forwards, rubbing their spikes together. "You want this _in_ you? You want me to frag you, Drift, until everybody's wondering why you can't walk straight? Or is that _common_ for you, after your 'meetings' with Ultra Magnus?"

The sound Drift makes is somewhere between amusing and pitiful. Maybe both. Cyclonus continues, reaching a hand between them to force their spikes together. He can't keep his voice quite steady, not at this point, but for Drift's sake - whether either of them will admit it aloud or not - he keeps talking.

And Drift keeps...well.

"See, all of this is just making me wonder what goes on in _any_ of your meetings. I can just see everybody _using_ you, one at a time, not even slowing _down_ while you're sucking or they're fragging your valve, and you loving every minute of it." He squeezes them together, Drift gasping aloud now, leaning his helm back- and Cyclonus leans even closer, all but hissing the imagery in to his audials. "That how you got your position? Because you sure as _slag_ didn't get it from fighting-"

 _That_ gets a different reaction.

 _That_ gets Drift _snarling_ , desperately, wrapping an arm around Cyclonus neck and pulling him down - Cyclonus grunts, off-balance, and suddenly Drift's hand is around their spikes, too, trying to gain some control...

And honestly, Cyclonus isn't _against_ that. He laughs, hoarsely, as another degree of warmth spreads from his unit, and then his grunts are echoing Drift's, and he can't form the processing power to offer anything else, any more encouragement, but that's all right because egging Drift on to this is okay too and he's fine with it-

It's still Drift who overloads first, though, transfluid spilling between them as the Autobot is can't help _whine_ , and it makes Cyclonus smirk, even with his face buried against Drift's neck. And he's the one who's, in the end, stroking Drift through it, and then letting go when Drift is clearly _done_ , and then just pumping his spike alone, chasing his own overload;

Drift barely bats an optic when Cyclonus grunts and overloads on his chest, only shudders once. But...not in protest, Cyclonus doesn't think so.

"Got a few layers to you," he manages when his vocalizer works properly again, to which Drift does bat - well, blink - an optic. And manage a thin smirk of his own.

"Yeah, well."

 _Yeah, well_. Guess it works as an answer. Cyclonus shakes his helm a bit, starting to get up, but is halted with Drift's next words.

"Next time, it's my turn."

Though surprised by the 'next time', he doesn't have to ask what it's Drift's turn for. He only tilts his head, regarding the other and the _challenge_...and then shrugs, accepting it. 

"If you can manage it."


End file.
